


No Taxation Without a Wedding Invitation

by misura



Category: Prince of Persia: The Sands of Time (2010)
Genre: Community: smallfandomfest, F/M, Fix-It, Weddings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-05
Updated: 2015-07-05
Packaged: 2018-04-07 19:53:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,639
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4275897
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/misura/pseuds/misura
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>It was, almost certainly, a bad idea.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	No Taxation Without a Wedding Invitation

**Author's Note:**

  * For [jedibuttercup](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jedibuttercup/gifts).



" _Ostrich racing_?" Tus repeated. "You're not serious, are you?"

Dastan smiled broadly. "You can call it tax evasion, if you'd like," he offered. "In the official pardon, I mean."

"Yes," Tus said. "The official pardon. Remind me again why I'm going to talk the king our father into writing one. Because I must confess, I'm still less than clear on that particular aspect of the case."

"Well, the Sheikh saved my life once. In another lifetime."

"Vague," Tus said, frowning. "Very vague."

Dastan slapped his shoulder. "You'll take care of it then, will you? Great."

Tus scowled at him. "Oh, go and get yourself married, Dastan. God knows it's well past time."

 

It was strange, to have all these ... _memories_ of events that had never happened, would never happen. Dastan was still working on the Hassansin problem - he didn't think they'd have taken the news of Nizam's death very well, but he had no idea if it would have inspired them to move.

He wasn't dead yet: that seemed to bode well. Perhaps they'd simply packed up their things and taken up a new hobby. Say, weaving, or calligraphy. Flower arrangement, possibly.

_I should be so lucky._

Garsiv seemed more mellow, these days. Dastan supposed having someone save your life might make you inclined to regard them more generously, with a perspective tempered by the knowledge that deep down inside, Garsiv did love him like a brother.

Of course, that feeling went both ways.

"You look happy."

Dastan grinned. "What man in my position wouldn't be. I'm getting married - or hadn't you heard?"

Garsiv snorted. "I believe there is not a soul in this city ignorant of your upcoming nuptials. You like her, then? Think she'll bring some peace and quiet to your chambers?"

"I hope not," Dastan said. "Well, some peace, perhaps. Peace is never a bad thing." Garsiv winced, and it occurred to Dastan that his words might have been mistaken for a slur. _Too late to take it back now. Alas, I'm no longer able to turn back time when it pleases me._ "Quiet, though? Boredom is more like it. Who would marry a woman such as Alamut's princess and wish for her to be quiet?"

"Can this truly be my younger brother I'm hearing? Or is it some phantom that has taken on his guise and is now mocking me with this semblance of wisdom?"

Dastan sighed. "The truth? I love her. Madly. Deeply. Utterly."

"I worry for you," Garsiv said. Dastan would have assumed he was joking, except that Garsiv wasn't smiling. "So just know that if you change your mind, you may take Aksh - with my blessing."

"Thank you. I believe I prefer the Princess for a wife. If nothing else, she might dazzle the foreign dignitaries with her beauty _and_ she actually knows how to read and write."

Garsiv scowled at him. "It was a sincere offer."

"I know," Dastan said. "And it touches me. Truly. Such concern over my happiness. I might almost believe you were anyone other than the same elder brother who kept beating me up when we were children, playing at warriors with sticks."

 

Tamina was the same - _still the woman I fell in love with_. She had yet to argue with him incessantly, or try to kill him with his own dagger, or even trick him into believing she had fainted of the heat while in fact she had done no such thing.

"I never used to believe in love at first sight. But now, I am less sure."

A gross injustice, Dastan felt: for the gods to leave her her feelings, but not the memories, the events that had awakened them. "Perhaps we have met before then, after all. In some other life."

"Some other life?" she asked, eyebrow arching.

"Perhaps you visited Nasaf once - the market. I used to live there - well, not the market, more like the slums. Still, you might have glimpsed me."

"And fallen in love with some beggar from the gutter? You don't think much of me, do you?"

_I think I would give you my heart on a platter, if you were to wish for it._

"You misunderstand me," Dastan said. "Deliberately, I think."

"And is it so easy for you to read my intentions then, Prince Dastan? Are all my moods like an open book to you, which you may read at your leisure?"

_The feeling was mutual. For a few days, at least._ "Hardly that."

Her hand was touching the dagger, lightly. Dastan might tell her, he supposed; it was a stirring enough tale, and a testament to her own strength of character.

_Still. Say she believes me. What, then?_ The memories would still be lost to her; Tamina might possess her own other life as a tale, but it would never be truth. _Best to keep silent._

"You look like your mind is miles away from here," Tamina murmured. "Is my company so lacking in stimulation to you, then, Prince? Are you so eager to go back to playing war? To conquering new cities and countries for the glory of your empire?"

"No," Dastan said. "Trust me on this."

He wanted, he realized, desperately, to kiss her.

 

"I don't mind telling you, the sight brought a chill to my heart," Amar said, clutching at the general vicinity of his chest. "Evil, pure and simple, walking the Earth in the shape of a man."

Seso had come along as a bodyguard. Rumor had it, he and Garsiv had taken one look at one another before retreating to Garsiv's chambers with several skins of wine - all without exchanging to much as a single word. Dastan had asked Bis to investigate, more out of curiosity than because he truly believed anything untowards might befall Garsiv in Siso's company, or vice versa.

"You mean tax inspectors."

Amar's fingers sketched a ward of protection. "Those, yes. Demons, I tell you. Suck a man dry, they do."

"You seem well enough, for a man sucked dry," Dastan said dryly. "Incidentally, how are Anita and the girls? All doing well, I hope?"

Amar shrugged. "Well, they're ostriches. Who can tell how an ostrich feels from day to day? They're - now, wait one second here, how'd you know about Anita? Some sort of spy, are you? Putting on some sort of clever disguise to stick it to the small businessman, make sure he stays small?"

"You wouldn't believe me even if I told you."

"Oh, I wouldn't, would I?" Amar winked at him. "Done a bit of gambling on the side, eh? Don't want Daddy to find out about it? Well, worry not, Persian - discretion is my middle name."

"Will you be staying for the wedding, then?"

Amar scratched at his beard. "Well, I'm not the wedding type myself, but Siso insisted. He's an Ngbaka, you know. Scourge of the Numidian plane. I ever tell you about them?"

 

It was, almost certainly, a bad idea. The worst idea Dastan had ever had.

Bis would have certainly counseled him against it, as would have Tus. _But not, perhaps, our father. Or Garsiv._

"Oh!" Tamina turned as he walked in. She was surrounded by her attendants, all of whom gave Dastan looks that ranged from amused to offended. "Prince Dastan. This is ... unexpected."

"I had to see you."

Tamina smiled. "It's bad luck for the groom to see the bride. Is that not what Persians believe?"

Dastan swallowed. He might leave, walk out. Get married. Trust that, in time, she would come to love him again as she had once before.

_A good man wins the war, even if he knows it to be unjust. A_ great _man does as his heart tells him, even if he knows it to be a more difficult path._

"I have a horse," he said. "A tent. Food and water. Will you come with me? Away ... from all this? To see the world, and all that it may hold for you and me?"

If Tamina thought he'd lost his mind, she hid it well.

"Just like that?" Her hand was on the dagger again. "I have duties, Prince Dastan. Responsibilities. I can't simply - "

"Yes, you can." _You did so, once. Without abandoning even a fraction of your responsibilities._ "Please."

"If you don't want to marry me after all, I'm sure there are easier ways to go about it than kidnapping," Tamina said. It was probably a lucky thing her attendants had melted away, to give them some privacy.

"I want to marry you," Dastan said. " _You_. Not Alamut's fabled Princess, not the Guardian of the Sacred Sands of Time. You. Tamina. But if we go out there, that will never happen. I will never be anything more to you than a Prince of Persia. And you - you will never know what's out there. What you might become, if you allow yourself a bit of freedom."

Tamina blinked once. "And you only decided this _today_? The preparations have been going on for _weeks_."

"I know. I have the most terrible timing." Dastan grimaced. "It's my personal curse, I'm afraid. Still, I'm here now. So how about it? Want to see if the world out there is ready for you?" He held out his hand.

_At least this time, we're not going to need to jump out of a window._ If _she says 'yes'._

"Are you?" Tamina asked archly, accepting it.

 

_epilogue_

"Well, but there's still going to be free food and drink, isn't there?" Amar asked. "I mean, simply because the happy couple's fled the coop, that's no reason not to feed your guests, is it?"

"You'll be fed, never fear," Tus said. " _After_ you've filled in a bit of paperwork regarding your not yet tax exempt activities for the past five years."

"Make it two and you've got yourself a deal."


End file.
